


The Thrill of the Hunt

by PhazonFire



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Bisexual Primrose, Biting, Dirty Dancing, F/F, Lesbian H'aanit, Middle English, Ophilia's a prude and Alfyn is oblivious, Particularly for H'aanit's Chapter 3, Post-Chapter 3, Pre-Chapter 4, Rough Sex, Scissoring, Slight spoilers for Primrose's Chapter 2 I guess, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Wingman Tressa, what the fuck else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 01:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16903530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhazonFire/pseuds/PhazonFire
Summary: A secret comes to light among friends, and Primrose can't help but start a bit of mischievous trouble.





	The Thrill of the Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to try writing H'aanit for so goddamn long and it got out of control very quickly but I have the hots for Primrose hard so fuck it literally

If there was anything to learn when traveling with the same small group of misfits for weeks on end, it was how hard it is to know everything about your friends. No matter how many conversations, heartfelt confessions and hearty drinks with good mates in the dark of night, there was always, undoubtedly, something hidden, a stone left unturned. 

Primrose wasn’t fond of secrets. 

True, she didn’t fancy herself to have the same unquenchable thirst for knowledge as Cyrus, or even the keen knowledge of body language Therion possessed, whether or not he realized it. Even Tressa, crafty as she was, could pick a customer’s brain without a second thought. Her understanding of dragging secrets out into the open was, for better or worse, innately tied to how easily she could lure a man under her spell, swapping tips and hints for sheer sex appeal. This, of course, bode poorly for the dancer in terms of swaying the fairer sex--or, in this case, getting a hardened hunter to spill the beans on her love life. 

“H’aanit,” she teased, nudging the poor girl at the barstool beside her, “that man in Stillsnow, the seer’s bodyguard. Do you perhaps fancy him?”

“Pray still your tongue, Primrose. He was an acquaintance, and nary a bit more,” H’aanit muttered in return, rolling her eyes and taking a large swig of mead before unceremoniously slamming the wooden mug hard on the countertop. “Let me rest. I hath already outdone myself slaying the dragon of the Whitewood today. I’ve not time for romance.”

“But you’re blushing,” she sing-songed with a face-splitting grin, poking H’aanit’s cheek. 

“Tis the drink,” H’aanit growled, throwing a pleading look at Olberic across the way. “I request thy aid.”

The knight chuckled, sliding a fresh brew to the poor hunter. “You act as though this behavior is surprising. Surely Primrose has given us all our fair share of grief in matters of the heart.”

“Hey!” Primrose shouted in mock offense, one slender hand over her heart. “It’s as though a girl can want for nothing around you brutes.”

“I don’t really think I’d want a lover so much as I’d want better stock,” Tressa chimed, swinging her feet from a too-tall barstool. “Besides, don’t think long-distance would work out very well.”

“Truly, you think of nothing but coin and adventure,” Ophilia chided with a smile, poring over tomes alongside Cyrus opposite the table from the merchant--truthfully, neither of them much fancied alcohol. 

“Have a little fun, all of you. H’aanit,” Primrose redirected, “I could find thee a gentleman if you so desire. Maybe teach you a trick or two in the ways of allure.”

“Primrose,” she snarled with a tone of warning to her tongue, “ _I. Am. Not. Interested_. I hath no concern for the ways of man, lest I could rather honeth the art of the hunt.”

“So forget the ways of men,” an otherwise-silent Therion’s voice cut through the conversation. “How about women?”

The bustle in the tavern seemed to still for a brief instant, the noisy chatter of other patrons fading into a sort of loud silence. Alfyn, bold as he was, had no qualms interrupting the awkward peace. “Like, H’aanit and girls?”

“I...can’t say I ever considered,” Olberic murmured bashfully, as though the words themselves would come back to bite him. “Is it true, H’aanit?”

But H’aanit, much to Primrose’s dismay, did not show a twinge of the fluster she’d expected--rather, calm and composed (save for the mead at work), the hunter nodded. “Tis true, though not necessary. Some favoreth the fairer sex, and I doth as well. It is nothing of a fuss.”

“Wait, you’ve liked girls this whole time?” Tressa interrupted, dumbfounded. “So that Alaic guy, you were serious about not caring?”

“Preposterous,” Cyrus shot back. “I refuse to believe that not a one of you knew.”

Another pause threatened the flow of conversation once again, but Tressa wouldn’t have it. “You can’t be serious, professor. You knew? This whole time?” 

“Surely. Any vague assessment would’ve given you the same conclusion,” he retorted matter-of-factly, casting a glance at Therion. 

The thief simply shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t think it was a mystery.”

“Oh, that’s not fair!” Ophilia whined, tossing her tome to the floor in exasperation (an action that left Cyrus with a substantial frown and a lecture waiting patiently on his lips). “You two know all vital secrets eons before the rest of us.”

“I did not tryeth to hide my preference,” H’aanit groaned in increasing annoyance, a vague tint of defensiveness in her tone. How she wished Linde was allowed inside the bar--maybe then the prying septet would watch their tongues. 

Primrose laughed--a clear laugh, empty of malice, but perhaps laced with a bit more enjoyment than was necessary, and H’aanit winced at the sound. “I should’ve guessed! It seems I can read a man like an open book, but women still elude me.”

“But you _are_ a woman,” Alfyn countered, confused as usual. 

“No, I think she means, like, _y’know_ ,” Tressa comforted, patting the apothecary on the back.

“No, I don’t know. I’m lost.”

“Clearly,” Therion scoffed. “She means seducing them,” he clarified with a particularly lewd motion of his hands that set Ophilia’s face ablaze. 

“You stop that immediately!” the flamebearer scolded, slapping the back of Therion’s head as he snickered. 

“I’ve half a mind to wonder if H’aanit might fancy Primrose after all this,” Olberic chuckled, swigging another round and enjoying this discussion far more than he ought to. H’aanit glared at the knight, a twinge of offense behind her eyes--or defense, perhaps. Of which, it was anyone’s guess to tell, but her unhappiness at the continued discussion rang true. 

“Frankly, we all fancy Primrose,” Therion joked. “Why, I catch the good professor ogling her curves every day.”

Cyrus, despite the absence of alcohol, practically choked on his own breath. “I do _no_ such thing, you...you…”

“Yes you do. You did it a few minutes ago, actually,” Tressa added nonchalantly, still swinging her feet from atop the towering stool in mock innocence. 

“Curb your tongue,” the scholar snapped, trying as best as he could to bury his reddening face in his tome. 

Despite their bickering, Primrose couldn’t help but take Olberic’s words to heart--for all her dancing, sashaying, alluring--H’aanit, ever stoic, leaned in her direction. H’aanit, whose heart stood immobile, unfazed by men and untouched by all but the thrill of the hunt and Linde herself. Primrose was not one to intrude on the boundaries of her friends, but this was no boundary--rather, more of a challenge. Despite her self-reminders that this would only make her a better dancer, a more effective weapon of seduction, a single purveying ultimatum tainted her thoughts. 

Come hell or high water, now or tomorrow, H’aanit, the sharp and bloodthirsty huntress, would undoubtedly crack. 

 

\---

 

Primrose’s opportunity did not take long to arise. The roads just outside of Saintsbridge, saddled in the Riverlands, stood as a fantastic spot for a moonlit bath, and the octet always made a point to enjoy the pleasures of cleanliness and self-care when passing through. With the men of the group bathing (and, undoubtedly, Cyrus singing woefully out-of-key as he was wont to do during his baths), Primrose grew ever excited at the chance to test her skills on a woman for once. 

“You’re scheming,” Tressa accused, narrowing her eyes at the dancer as she passed, meticulously piling fluffy towels atop a tree stump. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”

Primrose giggled. “I didn’t think I had a “look”, truly.”

“I’ve got no clue what you could be scheming right before a bath, honestly. Unless...is it something dirty?” 

Primrose squinted. “Were it not for the fact I know your age, I would assume you to be a lecherous little girl with her mind deep in the gutter.”

“Buuuut you didn’t say no,” Tressa continued. “Now I’m curious.”

“I simply recommend that you and Ophilia bathe on the far end of the riverbed, is all.”

“Is this about H’aanit still?”

Primrose grinned. “Nothing gets past a merchant, does it?”

“If you want Ophilia out of the way, it has to be something dirty. Which means you’re probably going to try out your womanly charms on H’aanit, right?”

“Very astute. You’ve been taking cues from the professor,” she teased. 

“I’d ask, but I have a pretty good idea what’s gonna happen. I’ll deal with Ophilia. Rather not see her have a heart attack.”

“Thank you kindly. And tell the others not to wait up after the bath. I’ll meet you at the inn back in town.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m thinkin’ you owe me a few leaves for this, you know. That’s my cue,” she spoke with a shrug, taking a towel from atop the teetering stack and disappearing behind the foliage to undress. Distant shouts (and what Primrose was pretty sure was the distinct sound of Therion and Alfyn whipping each other with rolled towels) stood as Primrose’s call to action as well. Showtime. 

H’aanit, quick as she was, had already ducked behind their regular bush on the near side of the riverbed, unbraiding her hair in a series of swift motions that, typically, Primrose couldn’t care less to notice. However, tonight was no ordinary night, and from a safe distance with shrubbery as her shield, Primrose indulged in what Tressa would undoubtedly label “voyeurism” should the mischievous merchant ever have the chance to know her plans. As a hunter, it came as no surprise that H’aanit was toned to a degree befitting of one so quick, and yet Primrose found her eyes lingering a bit too long on strong biceps and round thighs, growing ever more intrigued as the huntress shed her fur robes like a second skin. Her physique could rival that of a man’s--in truth, it did rival that of most men Primrose had had the pleasure of knowing intimately. H’aanit’s skin glistened with mist, a sight ever more beautiful under the moonbeams. The light of the evening crowned her hair like a brilliant halo, and she practically glowed, her face unclouded by worry as she stepped unflinchingly into the chilled waters of the river. 

Primrose couldn’t quite fathom why her mouth felt particularly dry. 

Her self-imposed challenge drifting continuously further from her thoughts, the dancer pondered exactly why she’d never graced a woman with her own allure with the same intimacy she provided to unassuming men. Seeing H’aanit bare before her was unlike all times before, as she scrutinized every curve, every detail of the huntress’s body with unparalleled intimacy and interest (oh, how proud the professor would be of her right now!). Even with the clear goal of flustering her friend to the high heavens, Primrose could not deny her own curiosity at going beyond her mission. How far could it go? How far was H’aanit willing, and, more importantly, how far was she herself willing? And with a _woman_ , at that?

With H’aanit fully submerged and nary a sight of the six potential interlopers, Primrose steeled her nerves (why, pray tell, were there nerves?) and stepped from behind her floral veil into the bold moonlight, a star at home on an open stage to an audience of one. H’aanit turned with a smile to welcome her comrade, only to have it fall from her lips as Primrose began to dance. 

The septet had mutually agreed that Primrose’s dancing, whether or not one became caught up in her allure, was undoubtedly enchanting and a true treat for the eyes. It was not uncommon for the gentlemen of the group to stare for just a bit too long at particular sweet spots, eyes lingering on a forbidden fruit. Primrose ruled the stage with grace and power like the royalty she was, and her confidence shook even pure and sweet Ophilia to her core. H’aanit, had she been asked, would not have been particularly keen to share her interest in the crown jewel of the Azelharts as it glimmered just out of reach, but she would lie to no man and feign disinterest. And as of right now, she was very, very interested, her eyes wide and yet fixated as they oft became during a hunt, the hunter locking onto her prey with unrivaled focus. 

With graceful steps, elegant flicks of her wrists and tantalizing gyrations of her hips, Primrose slipped out of her flimsy robes as slowly and enticingly as possible, in a fashion that she regretted becoming used to in her time at that lecherous tavern in Sunshade. She elected to keep her jewelry intact, emphasizing the gleaming moonbeams bouncing playfully off her bangles and adornments. With eyes closed, she moved with all the fluidity of the river beneath her feet, swept up in the rush of the spotlight (and, admittedly, the thrill of H’aanit’s gaze). Even with eyes shut, the temptation to look at H’aanit was irresistible, and Primrose could not help but take just the tiniest peak. 

H’aanit, bold and unflinching as she was, showed nary a sign of the fluster Primrose had hoped for--rather, while Primrose’s eyes were closed, the seemingly-harmless lewd prank had escalated far beyond that which was acceptable between typical comrades. With one hand dropped between her toned thighs, H’aanit rubbed her clit in sloppy circles, eyes boring a hole in Primrose’s own gaze, somewhere between utterly mesmerized and intensely focused. Primrose’s heart practically leapt into her throat--gods, was H’aanit _dripping_?--and a feeling more powerful than simple playfulness blossomed in her stomach, burning and unyielding. 

The thrill of being under the watchful eyes of a skilled hunter spurned Primrose further as she rolled her hips sensually, tiny groans catching in her throat each time her own thighs rubbed together. She moved her own body with a ferocity she’d never thought to waste on a man, feeling the insides of her thighs splashed with wetness herself. To dance for a man was another day of simple work, but this? This was incomparable, a full-body experience that Primrose could not quite explain. Chancing another look at H’aanit was a mistake--the sight of the huntress, still imposing and powerful as ever, playing with her own sopping sweet spots, grunting and groaning as she stared intensely at Primrose, drove the dancer wild. With her free hand, H’aanit motioned with one finger, in a single, overwhelmingly confident movement, for Primrose’s company. 

“Pray come hither. **_Now_** ,” she growled, a deep sound caught in her throat like the very beasts she’d devoted herself to capturing. This was not merely a one-sided show--even now, H’aanit’s hunter instincts had taken hold, with Primrose herself as the prey, wide-open and vulnerable. The thought thrilled the dancer, and she obliged, her own needs beneath her waist growing pressing. 

Not one to cease a show mid-way, Primrose moved with as much allure as she could muster, practically oozing sex appeal as she danced over to H’aanit, scrounging up what remained of her own confidence to place herself just inches from the huntress as she worked herself. Close enough to feel H’aanit’s steady breath on her face (unlabored, she noticed--even her breathing was in check, like a true hunter), she continued to roll her body, gyrating and grinding as she grew to envy H’aanit’s hand. This close, she couldn’t help but pick up on the low, rumbling sound in H’aanit’s throat--by the gods, she was _purring_.

“You’re wet,” H’aanit murmured in a husky tone. “I can smell your scent.”

Gods, H’aanit was reading her like a book--Primrose whined at her words, rubbing her thighs together as she danced with pressing urgency. She was quickly losing control of the situation to one much more composed than her, eyeing her with the intent to pounce like a tiger unto its prey at a moment’s notice, and the thought drove her absolutely crazy with lust. Without warning, H’aanit’s fingertips brushed the dancer’s thigh, and Primrose moaned openly, spreading her legs unconsciously. 

“Please,” she panted. “ _Please_ , H’aanit.”

At the sound of her own name whimpered in Primrose’s desperate pleas, H’aanit groaned, rubbing her clit faster and with less rhythm. With her other hand, she pushed two fingers hard against Primrose’s own clit, dragging them with a tantalizing slowness back and forth. Primrose hissed at the contact, her insides aching and craving something, anything. She ground herself hard against H’aanit’s palm, whining and begging as the huntress sized her up. 

“Touch me, please, gods, put your fingers inside, _I beg you--_ ”

“Then ye best beg harder,” H’aanit growled in a gravely tone, her own fingers pumping in and out of her body with fervent need. This woman was going to be the death of her. 

“Please, I need you,” Primrose whimpered, voice cracking as she bucked her hips against H’aanit’s touch. “Pray take me, H’aanit, by the _gods, please…_ ”

H’aanit’s growls grew intense at Primrose’s pleas, and her need to see Primrose doubled over in ecstasy far outweighed her interest in tormenting the dancer right now. With little effort, she slipped two of her fingers deep inside the dancer’s sopping pussy, hilting herself up to the knuckles and massaging her insides with fervor. The sensation was indescribable, outdoing all experiences Primrose had had with sex by galaxies--H’aanit, no doubt well-trained from her own practice, knew exactly what she was doing, and in seconds had Primrose an absolute wreck as she thrashed and squirmed in pleasure, brought to climax with such sudden force that she saw stars, with such intensity that, for the first time in her life, she squirted--all over H’aanit’s arm as she rode out her orgasm. She gripped H’aanit’s arms tightly, half-lidded eyes matching H’aanit’s fierce, piercing gaze. 

“Absolutely wonderful,” Primrose breathed, her heart racing. “It feels divine.”

But H’aanit wasn’t satisfied--with one swift motion and a primal growl, she tackled Primrose into the water, pushing her up and onto the riverbed hard enough to knock the wind out of the already-breathless dancer. She rolled on top of Primrose, pinning her to the sands with a hand on each wrist and that same ferocious look that made Primrose’s heart race and her legs shake. 

“I am not finished,” H’aanit snarled, and Primrose, absolutely enthralled, nodded her head in silent consent, quivering with anticipation. H’aanit lifted Primrose’s legs and angled her lower body in such a fashion that their most sensitive regions rested against one another, H’aanit’s own plentiful juices cascading down Primrose’s thighs. With a harsh growl, H’aanit began to grind against Primrose with unmatched intensity, quick and moving towards a definite goal. Primrose, still sensitive from her mind-numbing orgasm, howled at the friction, equal parts sensitive and burning with insatiable heat that craved the contact. She threw her arms around H’aanit’s waist as the hunter overpowered her, hunting her down and claiming her kill. 

“Thou art mine and mine alone,” H’aanit roared as she bore down hard against the lithe dancer, petite by comparison and far outmatched. “Thou playeth with flame and shall be burned. You are my prize, my desert rose, and you hath torment me long enough. Mine, _**mine**_ ,” she growled with increasing fervor, her voice rising as she rapidly neared her own peak, primal sounds erupting from her throat with every movement of her hips against Primrose’s body. Despite the awkward angle, H’aanit pulled Primrose close, panting against her neck as Primrose writhed in her grasp, overwhelmed by indescribable pleasure as she cried out with every subtle movement of H’aanit’s own pussy against hers. 

“Thou art mine, and letteth my mark be the proof,” she breathed against Primrose’s neck, sinking her teeth into the soft, pale skin. Primrose yelped at the pain, aching but absolutely welcome, feeling her skin swelling in H’aanit’s mouth already. Normally, a man who tried to bite her would’ve been slapped, and yet Primrose was so far gone, drowned in absolute bliss, that the idea of bearing a clear sex-fueled bite mark later did not so much as cross her mind--nor would it have mattered if it had. 

Between the pleasurable pain of H’aanit marking her and the frenzied, sloppy friction as both her and H’aanit bucked their hips wildly, Primrose felt that same delicious tension she’d been rapidly hit with earlier, and she wrapped herself as tightly around H’aanit as she could, desperate to close whatever gaps were between them as her orgasm approached. 

“Ooh, H’aanit! Gods, please, _please_ , I’m going to--”

“Yes, _yes_ , my desert flower, **_squirt for me_**!” H’aanit cried in return, her own muscles tensing.

With a thunderous roar and a high-pitched squeal, their orgasms synchronized, and waves upon waves of absolute bliss came crashing down on the two of them, Primrose’s vision giving way to that glorious field of stars once again as she reveled in pure ecstasy. The pleasure seemed almost eternal, and by the time she had regained her bearings, H’aanit was on her feet already, one hand extended to help Primrose off the ground. The dancer obliged willingly, allowing the miraculously-energized hunter to lift her up and pull her into her arms in one swift motion (for which Primrose was equal parts surprised and grateful, her knees still shaking and barely able to keep her stable). With the carnal lust past, what remained was intimacy, and Primrose allowed herself to nestle comfortably into H’aanit’s arms.

H’aanit nuzzled her face into Primrose’s hair, coated in sand as it was. “Thine scent is divine,” she murmured, that familiar purring sound rising in her throat once more. 

Primrose chuckled. “I never meant for it to go this far. I just thought I would have a spot of fun as a harmless joke.”

“Ye need not be sorry. I hath viewed thee from afar for quite the time. To have you in my arms is a blessing,” H’aanit replied without a trace of hesitation in her tone, composed and bold as usual as she snuggled the small dancer against her strong frame.

“Y-You’ve fancied me? All this time?” Primrose’s voice wavered in shock. 

“Since thee hath taken one graceful step into S’warkii. It should not cometh as a shock--surely thou knowest how all others perceive thine beauty.”

“Yes, but they did not do... _this_ ,” she protested, gesturing to herself nestled snugly in H’aanit’s arms. H’aanit tilted her head, as though contemplating a valid point, before dismissing the notion with a valiant toss of Primrose into her arms, carrying her effortlessly as she squeaked in surprise, laughing with a clear sound not dissimilar to bells chiming. 

“And nor am I they,” H’aanit spoke matter-of-factly, ending the discussion effortlessly. “You shaketh so intensely that I cannot trust thee to walk.”

“How chivalrous,” Primrose teased, content to be in H’aanit’s care. “You’ve truly opened my eyes to...a few things.”

“Mine eyes hath been opened all the while,” H’aanit replied with a shrug, bringing Primrose to the pile of mixed clothes on the shore. “Come along. Our comrades awaiteth our return.”

“I’m almost sad it’s over,” Primrose murmured to herself as she wrapped herself in one of the fluffy towels Tressa had lovingly prepared earlier. She snickered to herself at the crude note that fell from the towel folds--Tressa had taken the time to scribble a pile of lines that she could only interpret as Ophilia’s face, flustered and distraught, underneath which read “please be quiet next time!” bolded and underlined thrice. 

“It doth not have to be over. Perhaps we could rendezvous again, if thou fancy it.”

Primrose beamed, a wide gorgeous smile that sparked a twinge of blush across H’aanit’s cheeks--she chose a strange time to be bashful, Primrose thought to herself happily. 

“I think I would fancy it. I...apologize for my jests at your expense.”

“No need,” H’aanit cut her off, raising her hand in protest. “I merely hopeth that this doth not change thy view of me.” 

“Gods, H’aanit, of course not!” Primrose practically shouted, distraught at the thought. When H’aanit raised one prying eyebrow, Primrose rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe...this did, just a little.”

“We best be off. The night groweth old and the paths groweth dark. Perhaps another day we may...indulge once more,” H’aanit reminded, choosing her words carefully. With one hand extended to Primrose once again, the dancer leapt to her feet, opting not to release H’aanit’s hand this time. The hunter’s cheeks dusted that same gentle red, and Primrose laughed to see the all-mighty huntress shaken by soft intimacy rather than raw, carnal desire. 

Allowing herself to be tugged along towards Saintsbridge by a revitalized Primrose, H’aanit observed, as she was wont to do around Primrose--but not in an unsightly manner. Rather, her eyes lingered on the dancer’s infectious smile, her bright eyes, the warming sight of their hands together at H’aanit’s side. H’aanit had been captivated long ago--the lines had blurred on who, pray tell, stood as the hunter and the prey, for she had fallen victim to Primrose’s irresistible allure--and she would have it no other way. 

With eyes cast to the gleaming moon above, H’aanit smiled, her heart at peace and her fears eased, what few she held. Perhaps secrets were best meant shared.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written F/F sex in awhile and I'm rusty as shit, the ending is weak as shit because I'm tired and have been working on this for four hours straight lmfao


End file.
